


LIARS

by iceman



Series: THE RAIN AND THE SUN [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, side Jim/Barbara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceman/pseuds/iceman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald apologized far too often, and Jim would have been okay with that if there was something to apologize for, like a theft, robbery, or murder, all of the things that he had come to expect from a mobster like Oswald that, alright fine, a single ‘sorry’ wasn’t going to solve, but still. Whenever the man apologized to him, it was for the smallest of matters, all nerves and a whole bundle of self-doubt and though it was – how dreadfully Jim hated to admit it – adorable in a way that only Oswald could pull off, there were times when it made him want to do nothing but to kiss away that silly, worried frown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	LIARS

**Author's Note:**

> This is the unplanned sequel to THRESHOLD, please do read that first. I kind of messed with the show's timeline a little. Ah, posting a sequel always makes me nervous.

Oswald apologized far too often, and Jim would have been okay with that if there was something to apologize for, like a theft, robbery, or murder, all of the things that he had come to expect from a mobster like Oswald that, alright fine, a single ‘sorry’ wasn’t going to solve, but still. Whenever the man apologized to him, it was for the smallest of matters, all nerves and a whole bundle of self-doubt and though it was – how dreadfully Jim hated to admit it – adorable in a way that only Oswald could pull off, there were times when it made him want to do nothing but to kiss away that silly, worried frown.

He wondered, as he woke up in bed with an armful of sleeping Oswald, curled up, back flush against his front, that if it wasn’t for Mooney abusing him as she did, if Oswald would have just been a little more reluctant to ask for pardons.

Perhaps. But then again, if he actually knew anything about Maroni and Falcone, it was that they definitely would never treat Oswald any better than she had. He sighed, the nagging thought that cleaning up Gotham was his job and in his hands, and though he had already previously decided that Oswald was different from the rest of them, deep down, he knew better. And he knew that one day, he would, most likely, be the one to put Oswald behind bars, no matter how much he didn’t want to, the day would come, and it would be inescapable.

The man with his eyes closed and his breaths long and shallow, body so warm and wonderful and perfect, Jim did not dare to ponder upon such a future for fear of losing the present. He nuzzled then, into the crook of Oswald’s neck, trailing upwards, inhaling his scent, and pressed himself ever closer to the body in his grasp, holding tightly and not willing to let go.

When he had begrudgingly agreed to meet Oswald for lunch those many weeks ago, this wasn’t where he pictured them to end up. It was, he figured, as much of Oswald’s doing as it was his, and really, he didn’t particularly care about the how in that moment as he kissed the accessible side of Oswald’s face, all sleeping and calm and serene, not a single crease of worry on him.

The hand that wasn’t slotted under Oswald as an extra pillow wandered, over his chest and down his flat stomach, skin pure and smooth and oh so very easily bruised. And instead of all the ruthless beatings he had endured, Jim wanted to mark that skin with open mouthed kisses.

Barbara hadn’t returned in the night, for the better, Jim supposed, saved him and Oswald from all the awkward fumbling that would have ensued, but it was worrisome, how their relationship was slowly falling apart. He had told her he loved her, and she had left anyway. He could never, would never blame her, the part of him that cared and loved her still intact, and as his palm slid over Oswald’s hips, rubbing at the inside of the man’s thighs, he still thought of her and everything else in-between.

And yet, he didn’t want Oswald to just be her replacement. It sounded wrong, even unspoken in his head, like he was merely using the man, like he didn’t actually care, and that wasn’t the case at all. He wanted. He wanted a whole lot of things that he wasn’t sure he should or could ever pursue. And of all the things that had come into consideration, it was what he wanted, truly wanted, that scared him the most.

He wanted a repeat of the moment he had woken up to, sunlight streaming in from the windows, casting Oswald’s pearlescent skin in a shower of gold and yellows and oranges, aptly taking his breath away. He wanted a repeat of the night before, Oswald’s coy smile and long eyelashes fluttering as they spoke of wordless promises, lips joined and heartbeats in sync. He wanted Oswald, all of him, the good and the bad and everything else that he had gotten the chance, the privilege to know, and he knew that it would never be his to take.

A whimper caught his attention, the man in his arms stirring but not quite awake yet, and Jim rolled his hips forward, the cloth of his boxers the only thing separating him from the contact of skin, having teased Oswald into sleeping naked, a great foresight, if he had any say about it, making the few tense minutes of trying to assure Oswald that _no, Jim didn’t mind the scar on his leg_ and that _yes, he was still utterly gorgeous and perfect_ totally worth it.

His hand found Oswald’s length, half hard, and he stroked, earning a gasp in return. ‘Jim?’ Oswald murmured, voice heavy with sleep, lower and richer and filthily hot, and he replied with another thrust of his hips, already far more aroused than he should be.

It should have been wrong, doing this on the bed that he and Barbara had shared so many times before, her presence being only missed for a mere two days, but it didn’t feel that way. Jim wasn’t sure if it was just the pure lust that was speaking, or if he truly couldn’t have cared less, but he glossed over that detail anyway, a problem for another time.

Instead, he pulled his boxers down, desperate for the scorching heat of skin on skin, and when Oswald pushed back, all needy and wanting, Jim forgot how to properly breathe. ‘God, Oswald,’ he groaned, exhaling hot onto the shell of the man’s ear, ‘I want to fuck you so bad.’

‘ _Jim_ ,’ Oswald replied, a choked sound, cock fully hard and heavy and leaking.

And Jim rutted, sliding between the cleft of Oswald’s ass, palms tracing the lines of Oswald’s ribcage, wondering how a guy like Oswald, with all his access to a myriad of different food cuisines could possibly be underfed. He caught and stopped his train of thought before it had the chance to provide him with various lewd mental images about him feeding Oswald as the man knelt in the space of his parted legs.

He dragged the blunt tips of his fingers over Oswald’s chest, finding his nipples hard and seeking for attention that Jim was all too willing to give, and he ghosted over them, rolling his fingers over and around like his own little experiment, and Oswald moaned a sweet, ‘oh God, please.’

That flipped a switch in his brain, like an animal unchained, he growled, and the sobering thought that _this wasn’t what it was like with Barbara_ made him clench his jaw together, sound seething, coming out as a hiss, like the sound of opening up a can of beer, fuzz bubbling to the surface. He told her that he would protect her, and he failed anyway.

Perhaps her leaving was for the better, perhaps space was what they both needed. When he pinned Oswald face down to the bed, hands on his hips gripping and bruising, Jim buried his emotions in the man’s back, all pale and angular and feeling like a lifeline.

Oswald was his lifeline.

And Oswald was _his_ in that moment, all too willing and needing beneath him, and he didn’t have lotion – or anything that could slick his way – by the bedside table. Another reminder of him living with Barbara, living in the apartment that she owned, bought with her parent’s money, as if everything else wasn’t already a reminder enough.

Actually getting off Oswald to rummage through his toilet supplies was out of the question. Jim didn’t believe that he would, metaphorically, live if he were to detach himself from Oswald, and when said person bucked against him, the smooth slide and delicious friction causing him to huff out blazing hot air, Jim thought he’d probably _physically_ die as well.

‘Fuck, Oswald, I can’t, I don’t,’ and he realized that he was already frustratingly close, that all it’d take to get him over the edge was just that little bit more, and he felt absolutely ridiculous because holy shit, he was a grown man, not some horny teenager, but when Oswald replied with a mantra of _wreck me, wreck me, wreck me_ , voice muffled from biting into the fabric of the sheets and Jim was all too sure that he wasn’t supposed to hear that, it was all it took. Up and over the edge.

He did it before thinking, mind still lost in a fog, as he slid his dick through his release and _pushed_ , just enough pressure for the very tip to sink inside, and Oswald whined, pitch high and noise loud, swallowing a scream. ‘Jim, please, I need to---’

And Jim had him on his back in an instant, fumbling, taking Oswald’s cock into his mouth in one go, fingers rubbing and prodding, he managed to slick up two of his fingers before slipping them in at the same time, feeling Oswald clench around him. On the third stroke downwards, his fingers following the rhythm, he shoved away the thought of ‘I have no idea how to do this’ straight to the back of his mind, his nerves at not doing it well enough soothed when he looked up at Oswald, eyes half-lidded and jaws slack, the whole of his face flushed pink, making sounds that were all space and no air. On the fifth stroke Oswald fisted his hair, trying to pull him off and tug him down at the same time, gasping, ‘Jim, Jim, I’m---’

He swallowed, humming in satisfaction, not so much at the taste but at the way Oswald was biting his bottom lip, swollen and red, eyebrows furrowed, looking awfully embarrassed and sated and a downright mess.

Jim made that mess. And the thought shouldn’t have made him smile as wide as he did.

‘Good morning,’ Oswald said, a full minute later when he remembered how to breathe again, and Jim crawled up to plant a kiss on his still blushing cheeks and replied, ‘Good morning, Oz.’

The sound of his phone clattering onto the wood floor had both of them startled, Oswald immediately sitting up on the bed, hair ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, looking absolutely adorable, glaring at the spot on the ground like it personally offended him. And maybe it did, Jim cursed as bent over the edge of the bed to pick up his phone – it was on silent, the vibration kicking it off the table – and in his haste to answer, he didn’t check who the caller was.

‘Jim,’ came the almost exhausted sounding Barbara on the other end, and Jim was half tempted to hang up. He didn’t though, couldn’t bring himself to do it, and brought the phone away from his face for a second to tell Oswald that he needed to take the call, pulling up his boxers – a goddamn sticky mess that he’d just have to clean up later – he walked out to the main room, standing in the middle of it.

‘Barbara, hi,’ he said, the silence stretched for far too long between them and he coughed to clear his throat. ‘How are you?’

‘How am _I_? Jim, its way past twelve noon, you’re supposed to be at work by now! Harvey’s tried to call you so many times, and then he called me to ask you where you were and God, Jim, I was so _worried_.’ She didn’t need to expand on the whole ‘worried about what’ thing, they had that set in stone after the stunt Mooney pulled, and fuck, he was the one at fault here. For everything.

‘Shit,’ a curse, muttered through gritted teeth, as he ran his palm through his hair and glanced back at the bedroom. Of course he had forgotten to set an alarm, of-fucking-course. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine, I’m at home. Just, overslept is all,’ he explained, even though it was not helpful in the slightest to ask Barbara not to worry after all that had happened, and he apologized for it, eyes scrunched shut and fingers nervously grabbing at his own hair. ‘Sorry, sorry. I had a really long night, I’ll call Harvey to tell him that I’m on my way.’

‘Yeah, alright,’ she replied after, still uncertain and only slightly placated, ‘Look, Jim, I---’

‘I love you,’ he cut her off, before she could say anything that would possibly ruin everything they had tried to build up, before she could say anything that would make him regret the night before, and he hung up, not waiting for her reply, and sighed, deep and suddenly very, very tired. After all she had been through, all that he had put her through, it was the least that she deserved.

And Oswald was there when he turned around, seemingly having cleaned himself up and donning trousers though the top half of him was still bare, faint finger-shaped bruises from where Jim had gripped too hard showing on the very top of his hips where cloth didn’t cover, a fairly large and obvious one on his neck where Jim had bit and sucked and licked, and Jim was sure that there was no way Oswald was going to succeed in hiding that behind his collar.

But it was the look on Oswald’s features that had Jim frowning, a sort of forlorn, contemplative gaze that saw right through him, and he knew that Oswald had heard – at least the very last part – of the phone call. And really, he didn’t quite know what to say to that, the whole situation complicated on his end, having dragged Oswald into it all, it wasn’t regret, not exactly, but it came pretty damned close.

‘Oz,’ he said, on a heavy exhale, realizing how ridiculous he must have had looked, standing in the middle of his living room in nothing but his boxers with a phone in one hand and rubbing the back of his head with the other. Not that it was high up on his list of priorities right now, not that there was even a list at all, just Oswald, who walked past him and to the couch, picking up his clothes that had been discarded there previously, his limp a little more obvious, and Jim had to force himself to stop thinking about exactly _why_ that was. ‘Oswald.’

‘You don’t have to say anything,’ was the reply, as Oswald busied himself with the buttons on his shirt, then the ones on his vest, the slight tinge of the red-purple bruise peeking above his collar, ‘You don’t owe me an explanation. I did everything willingly despite factoring in the consequences.’

Jim knew that, of course he knew that, but that wasn’t the issue. He had no excuses, no way to put it into words, the way Oswald made him feel, the way they danced around each other, merely a single touch and go and yet so thoroughly fulfilling, the way it lit up everything he never knew existed within him, bright and golden, yellow and orange, mesmerizingly beautiful like the magic of sunrise.

He didn’t know how to explain it, the reason why they can’t possibly be together, the way that it would destroy them, both of them, that he would never be able to bear it, everything that he had never knew he wanted ripped from his arms, everything that he would never be, that they would never be.

He didn’t know how to explain it, how the moments they had shared was nothing like what he had with Barbara, that it was so much more and not enough, and he yearned for it, though dangling just out of reach, he needed it, so exasperatingly desperately, that he was drawn to it, shining bright and warm and welcoming, like the corona of the sun.

He didn’t know how explain it, so he didn’t try. ‘I know,’ he replied instead, distant and confused and holding back. ‘Oswald, I’m---’

‘Don’t,’ Oswald whispered, finally looking at him again, suit all done up, prim and proper, and Jim would never tire of seeing the man like that, dressed up like that, standing in _his_ – Barbara’s, a small part of his mind screamed, and he buried it – living room, save for the concealed emotions behind his eyes and the hurt in his voice. Jim wanted to rid him of that, the sorrow and pain and _acceptance_.

It was the acceptance that hurt the most, Oswald being a person that would fight for everything he wanted, it that the acceptance that made Jim’s heart clench, a painful dull ache, that Oswald would fight for everything else, but not this.

Not this.

‘Don’t apologize,’ Oswald said, smile melancholic, his tone unlike anything Jim had heard from him before, the strangeness of heartfelt words covered under a veil of forced strength, and it was utterly destroying him, ‘Let me at least have the illusion that all this did not end in regret.’

Oswald was wrong. He didn’t regret it, all the moments that they had shared, he didn’t regret it. What he did regret was every moment after, when the spell was broken and reality crashed in, of what they were, who they were, their responsibilities, their jobs, their lives. What he did regret was going into it all with emotions too strong, going into it all even though he knew that there were things that were not under his control, things that he could never handle. What he did regret was everything before Oswald, and _after_.

He said nothing as Oswald grabbed his pair of keys lying on the table, nothing as Oswald paused in the doorway, waiting, nothing as the doors closed and his last chance of ever making it right left with it. He said nothing, and yet his mind was yelling, begging, an unspoken _please, please don’t go_ , shrouded in a place without light.

 

Oswald had once told him that it was better to walk with a friend in the dark instead of walking alone in the light, Jim didn’t believe that, not one bit. And as he sat by his desk, flipping through the most recent case file in his hand and not exactly seeing it, he wondered if Oswald counted as a grey area. Hypocritical of him, to think of himself as the knight in shining armor, riding in to save the city from corruption and darkness, when really, he was in that grey area all the same.

A small nagging part of his mind told him that Oswald was the one who did that, treated him as a friend – friend, the word seemed so small and meaningless now compared to what they had actually shared –but he was the one who had let the man in.

He was the one, with all his faults despite his charade of valor, that fell for a criminal as they sat on roadside benches talking about everything and nothing under the sun. Barbara would laugh in his face if she knew, the irony, that he would be the one to fall for such devices, that he would be the one to forsake his own morals, and for what? A thief, a liar, a murder.

A liar that had looked so sincere, as they laid side by side and Oswald’s smile – and Jim categorized all of Oswald’s smiles – bare and vulnerable in an honesty that Oswald had never been quite familiar with, they said a picture speaks a thousand words, and in that picture, with the man in his arms, looking up at him through long dark lashes, that whispered a serene, heart-warming _I love you_.

I love you. He had said to Barbara, and he meant that, every word, even though it was different now, they were different now, drifted too far apart. He wanted Oswald to know, wanted to speak but the words refused to take form. How would he explain something that he himself found baffling, like he was going around in a maze that was built with no exit, going around in circles and circles, when all he could do was look up at the sky.

Like one of Ed’s spontaneous riddles. ‘Riddle me this – what causes a sudden increase in heart rate and a loss of overall brain function, but is not a drug?’ He sighed, crushing the paper in his hand without realizing he was doing it, ‘Ed, not now.’

‘Love,’ was the reply, and Jim looked up at him incredulously, brain having not comprehended nor even attempting to decipher the riddle. ‘What?’

Ed was by his table, looming above him as he sat on his chair, making him feel incredibly small even though it was Ed, for God’s sake, Ed, the most nonthreatening person in the entire police department. He was being a total idiot, wasting his time flipping through files he wasn’t even reading, and then engaging Ed in the silliest of conversations at the worst of times. And worst didn’t even begin to cut it when Ed decided to speak, all convinced and full of himself like it was the simplest thing in the world, ‘You’re in love.’

He groaned, verbally and physically, burying his face in his palm. Not this, not now. Of all the things, of all the people that would be talking to him about it, Edward fucking Nygma. No way, absolutely no way. It was not happening. It was not. ‘Ed, what the hell are you talking---’

‘Who is it?’ Ed asked, all innocent looking and wide eyed, curious, fascinated even, and Jim felt the onslaught of a migraine. ‘Definitely not Barbara, someone new, someone you’ve just met? No, no, must have been for quite a while, a friend? A friend! Work? Hmm. Outside of work, outside…’

Jim resisted smacking Ed in the head with pure willpower alone. And then Ed’s mouth formed into the shape of an ‘o’, disbelief and shock at his own revelations that was quickly settled down into an all-knowing shit-eating grin. Jim wanted to kill him, in any way possible, with the stapler on his desk, his chair, beating Ed over and over with the stupid case file.

And then Ed spoke, and he wanted to kill himself, preferably by shooting himself in the head with his own pistol, ‘Did you know that male emperor penguins keep their eggs warm by balancing them on their feet?’

No fucking way.

Ed walked in on them once, once, _just talking_ , and it was all Oswald’s fault for showing up at the police department unannounced in the first place. There was no way that Ed knew. ‘No, no, no,’ he muttered aloud before his mind caught up with him, and he stood straight up, eye to eye with the bane of his whole existence, standing right in front of him, all smiles and not a hair out of place. ‘Get out of my sight, get out of my sight before I punch you in the face.’

It took too long for him to realize, after Ed had walked away all grins and excitement, that he had not dispelled Ed’s – albeit, correct – conclusion. As he slumped down face first against his desk, exasperated, he wanted nothing more than to have to never, ever, show his face in the police department ever again.

 

Of course, he had decided that the best course of action after royally screwing up was to screw things up even more, but in his defence, he came up with the idea over the course of thirty minutes, and Harvey, to his infinite credit, agreed to it. _Nothing like a good ol’ suicide mission, huh?_

He had, at that point in time, explained to Harvey that he was not planning on dying or anything remotely close, that he would – glass half full – expect Falcone to just agree to go with them to the police station with the mayor in tow, but even Harvey filled up with a mixture of scotch and whiskey knew how utterly deranged he had sounded. And okay, it technically wasn’t Oswald’s fault, but damn it, he had to clear his mind somehow and really, Falcone was the problem here.

Oswald probably wouldn’t even be a gangster if not for Falcone. Or Fish. Or Gotham being the way it was, in general. Probably, probably not. The thing was, Jim knew he was just trying to find a scapegoat, something else to pin the blame on to that wasn’t himself, and really, it was a self-centred, horrible thing to do, but Jim had – at least after the night with Oswald – realized how much of a hypocrite he was in everything he had done – again, pinning the blame on Oswald – and he really, really just wanted it all to be over.

Suicide mission was right. Except, he should have done it alone.

He should have done it alone, and Barbara should have been far, far away. Barbara should have been safe. He had promised to protect her, and his words seemed to hold less and less meaning as the days passed. Turned out that Oswald wasn’t the only person who was good at lying. As if Oswald had ever lied to him. Had Oswald ever lied to him?

‘I believe you,’ he said in reply to Falcone’s threat, even though Falcone’s words weren’t the things haunting him.

As it turned out, believing was right, when Barbara stumbled out from the room, arms tied in front of her, Zsasz behind her, menacing, though the grin shining through the man’s eyes made it seem like he knew something Jim didn’t, and it irked him deeply, far more than the entire situation, even after Barbara’s bindings were cut and he had her back by his side, Zsasz’s gaze bore into him, peeling him apart, layer after layer.

He wondered if Oswald had worked closely with the man before the whole thing with Maroni, he wondered if Falcone knew, if Oswald was safe – and he stopped himself when he noticed Falcone eyeing him, all of them, giving him looks like he was the one with something to hide and yeah, yeah okay, he _did_ but---

‘Go, get out of here before I change my mind.’

And that, that was the icing on a terribly half-baked cake.

He didn’t realize it at first, having taken a visibly shaken Barbara home, Harvey’s perpetual half-assed demeanour dropped for an honest show of concern, the too long day being dragged far enough, the exhaustion at everything seeping into his bones. He didn’t realize it at first, as Barbara held him tight and he did the same, her tears spilling onto his jacket and her whisper of _I love you_ resounded in his ears.

He didn’t realize it, not when their lips met, warm and soft and loving, the memories of a time long before, not until he looked up, his hands threading through her golden locks, face pressed tightly into the crook of his shoulder, the bed that he had shared with her, shared with Oswald, sitting in the corner, staring straight back at him. Oswald. It had been Oswald.

Oswald was the one that asked Falcone for his pardon. There was no other explanation. They were still working together, they were trying to take down Maroni from the inside out. There was no other explanation.

It had always been _Oswald_.

‘Jim?’

Her eyes were pleading, confused, and he could tell that she knew that he hadn’t been entirely truthful. They had known each other for way too long, too long for secrets, too long for love, dissipated. ‘Barbara, I,’ he started, then stopped, the words died in his throat. How could he explain it all? He was already in too deep.

She frowned, bit her lower lip, her way of showing annoyance, and she adverted her gaze, hands dropping limp by her side, she made a move to walk away, but he stopped her. He stopped her, and for what? He clenched his jaw, mind a complete and utter mess. ‘Don’t go.’

Selfish. He was being selfish. She had the right to know, about them, about Oswald, about everything and yet there was a part of him that didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want to lose her even though he knew that he could never have them both, it wouldn’t be fair, to either of them, it wouldn’t be fair---

‘I left for a reason, and I see now that it was a mistake to come back.’ He didn’t stop her, just like how he didn’t stop Oswald, and when the door closed behind her, Jim wondered if there was ever a way to make everything right.

 

‘Thank you,’ he typed, a glass of whiskey in his hand and the weight of the world on his shoulders – entirely his fault, of course – having been demoted to a guard in Arkham Asylum, he should have expected it, just like he should have expected a lot of things, but these days, he wasn’t thinking straight. ‘For getting Falcone off my back,’ he explained, and the drunk part of his mind added, ‘and for the night.’

He sent it before he could second guess himself, sighing as he sank lower on his seat. The notification sound startled him, having never expected a reply, a small part of him glad that Oswald was still willing to talk to him, and another part of him yelling at him to stop, that he was making things worse.

 _He_ was making things worse, really, it had never been Oswald’s fault, he knew that, but he would never admit it. Pride was his downfall, among many other things, like being a despicable liar, a cheat, an asshole who took things for granted. He was no better than the criminals he had put behind bars, nor the crooked cops that he had exposed. He was no better than any single one of them, knee deep in shit and just trying to survive.

‘Anything for you, Jim,’ was the reply, and he slammed the phone screen flat on the table, downing the whiskey in a single breath. Oswald had always seen the best in him, no matter his misgivings, his flaws, Oswald had always been there for him, what he didn't understand was why.

Why, of all people, did Oswald pick him? Oswald, with his charming smile and his fearsome determination, he could have the world if he wanted, if he tried hard enough, Jim truly believed that Oswald could have _everything_ , that Oswald could have Gotham in the palm of his hands – that sense of freedom, the liberty and capability to do anything and everything he had ever wanted, and what he chose instead was to give himself – _I’ll be your slave for life_ – to Jim.

Ridiculous. The man was absolutely ridiculous. And adorable, intelligent, talented, driven, and insanely perfect, and it takes Jim’s breath away, all absurd and incomprehensible. Ed was right, he was in love, and he shouldn’t be, not with Oswald anyway, not when he had Barbara – but God, it wasn’t the same, it was never the same and all he wanted in that moment, alone and desperately close to tears, was for Oswald to show up at his doorstep and---

He was being selfish. Again. And he was a terrible liar. He pressed call on the phone before his brain could even tell him to stop, that it was a bad idea and that he didn’t want any more problems in his hands, but he couldn’t make himself put the phone down, the dial tone making him desperate, as it dragged from one ring, to two, to three, and Oswald would have picked up by now, surely, but he doesn’t, and the phone goes to voicemail.

Jim drank a whole five more glasses of whiskey before going to bed, he never left a voicemail and Oswald never called him back.

 

Arkham was hell, from the patients to his higher ups and to the stupid creaks and groans that resounded through the old dilapidated building, and he hated it, every second of it – the mayor would be elated.

He snarled at no one in particular, the howling winds seeping through the high windows, rain making the bricks and rubble croak more than they should, the patients anxious and alert, skittering around the break room, muttering to themselves. Not a word from Oswald nor Barbara, and it made Harvey’s stupid joke of a good morning message that read, ‘cheer up, at least you weren’t checked in to the looney bin,’ not the least bit funny.

He was lost, lost and stuck in between worlds, and he knew no matter how much he wanted to step into Oswald’s, he shouldn’t, but again, terrible liar, even to himself. As the nurse called for the patients to gather round and watch a play, he sent the text message of ‘can we please meet for lunch?’ to Oswald, even though he was telling himself no.

 

Arkham was hell, and he was glad he got out of it. Lunch had to be rescheduled – he was giddy with joy when Oswald did actually reply in the affirmative, like a goddamned sixteen year old school girl, and really, he should know better than that, but apparently not – and with Gruber out of the picture and his job as a detective reinstated, he _should_ have been glad at the way things worked itself out, but it didn’t, not quite.

‘Jim,’ Oswald greeted, as Jim walked out of the Captain’s office with Doctor Leslie Thompkins in tow, the latter being only just offered a job as the medical examiner in the police department, and that put everything to a screeching halt as Leslie asked him to introduce her to _his friend_.

Oswald had to stop showing up unannounced.

And Jim had to stop screwing things up.

He cleared his throat, making a short, quick introduction before he physically dragged Oswald into, once again, one of the interrogation rooms, yelling over his shoulder about it being ‘purely business’. It wasn’t until he had the room under bolt – and screw how it must have looked to everyone else in the GCPD, counterproductive or not, he had no choice, damn it – that he bumped their foreheads together and whispered, ‘What are you doing here?’

Oswald was blushing at their proximity, Jim felt the tension rolling off him in waves, and he pulled Oswald even closer without thinking, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist, the distance between them too hard to bear. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, and it was the shocked expression that he received in return that made him see the irony of it all – that he was the one who was apologizing this time, that their silly little push and pull was all for nothing, that denying his feelings got them absolutely nowhere.

That he was being stupid – Oswald had that effect on him, for better or worse – and really, all he wanted to do was to crush their lips together until they were both out of breath.

‘Jim,’ Oswald said again, far too meek and uncertain, and it was that look in his eyes that made Jim let him go instantly, backing up until he met the wall, the doorknob digging into his side painfully. ‘I can’t do this,’ the man admitted, gaze not meeting his, fingers fumbling at the edge of his suit, ‘It’s not because of Barbara, it’s just…’

 _Just what?_ He wanted to scream, wanted to slam his fists in the wall, wanted to shake the man in front of him, the man that meant the world to him, the man that waltzed into his life like he belonged and made a home in his heart that he never, ever wanted to get rid of and now, now this. Lies, lies all of it, from the both of them, too much bullshit back and forth and Jim didn’t want it to be that way, didn’t mean for it to be at all complicated, and he realized that, he realized that but Oswald was backing out and there was absolutely no way that he could handle being just _friends_ and---

The laugh he let out was cold and bitter, all choked up and harsh and sore, and fuck, maybe Oswald was right. Maybe it was too much of a roller coaster ride for both of them, that they would be better off not pursuing something that shouldn’t have happened in the first place – lunch, what the hell was he thinking? – and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be feeling like shit if all of it was said and done with, and the problem would resolve itself.

And yeah, okay, if Oswald wanted to give up, maybe he should too – what did he know? His mind ceases to function whenever Oswald was around – so he nodded, shaky and unbalanced, nails digging into his the flesh of his palms, ‘I understand.’

Liars, the both of them, and it was at that moment that Jim realized how much alike they actually were, and it was all just downright ridiculous, the selfishness, the hypocrisies, the lies and deceit.

They were made for each other, he scoffed, full of resentment and a whole lot of disbelief, as Oswald took his left hand and slipped a card into it, still not looking at him, voice discordant and trembling, ‘I-I came here to give you this, actually. Y-You don’t have to come, I-I mean, you can, it wouldn’t be the same without you but, but, well.’

It was an invitation card, and one quick glance at the address written on it told Jim all he had to know. It was the address to Mooney’s club, renamed Oswald’s, and he didn’t have to ask to know that Mooney would no longer be a problem, didn’t want to know what happened to her, or if Oswald had any part in it.

‘No thanks,’ he replied, and he couldn’t tell if Oswald was disappointed or relieved, couldn’t tell what the hell the man was thinking, coming to the police department with the intention of passing him an invitation, then outright denying both of them of any intimacy – friendship, that was all it was, wasn’t it? Perhaps it had been Oswald’s plan all along, to screw him up like he did, throwing his world off balance and then leaving him to float aimlessly in space.

Or perhaps they had both gone into this all wrong, and that there was a chance to fix it, but he had his fill of disappointments, and if he had learned anything the past few days, it was that if he held no expectations, there would be no disappointments.

‘Just, just let me know if you reconsider.’ No disappointments, no attachments.

He was standing in the way of Oswald leaving, and he sidestepped for the man to reach out for the lock, but caught his arm last minute. That was it, then? He was willing to let it all slide and pretend that nothing happened? Let Oswald leave without a word again, let them both dwell in the regret of after.

The sound of his heart racing clashed with the irrational part of his brain that was yelling at him to kiss the man already, but he had listened once, back in his apartment, when Oswald held the evidence for a man’s conviction in his hands, and it now seemed like so long ago, but he had listened once, and look where it got him.

Lost in a world without a sun, without Oswald, without light.

Oswald had once told him that it was better to walk with a friend in the dark instead of walking alone in the light, and Jim didn’t believe that, not one bit – and he didn’t believe it now, not when he had gotten light and dark all wrong, not when Oswald didn’t yet see that he wasn’t the darkness, the corruption, the evil that he thought he was, not when Oswald drew him in, like a planet revolving around its star, its sun, bright and warm and welcoming.

He kissed Oswald then, no pretence, no words, just soft and fleeting and with a desperate need for him to understand.

 _I love you_.

Even if it would never be enough, even if everything else stood between them – Barbara, his work, his pride – he wanted Oswald to know. No lies, no deception, not to Oswald, and not to himself.

He wanted Oswald to know, even if it was the last time, even if it might end in regret, he _needed_ Oswald to know, about everything and nothing under the sun.


End file.
